


Sugar Coated

by Sovvie118



Series: Askpolylosersclub Oneshots [7]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovvie118/pseuds/Sovvie118
Summary: Stan is a sugar daddy for the rest of The Losers' Club. Pry this headcanon from my cold, dead fingers. Paired with the askpolylosersclub blog on Tumblr. For bi-denbrough.





	Sugar Coated

Stanley Uris is someone who appreciates the beauty of things.

It can probably be attributed to his introversion, the fact that he likes to blend into the background of things and observe rather than push himself into the spotlight. He’s never liked to be the centre of attention, never enjoyed putting himself where he should be focused on and as such, he’s learned to _observe_ , learned to pick out small details that other people, with less refined senses, would overlook.

He believes that he has a keen eye; it’s what has made him brilliant at spotting birds far off in the distance. The fact that he can correctly differentiate between a juvenile and an adult European Starling without being up close is something that he feels rather boastful about. It’s this kind of natural proficiency that allows him to see elegance, delicacy and charm in things that others may not. Hours of his life have been spent trying to capture these same wonders through an expensive camera lens and yet, nothing ever comes close to witnessing the real thing with your own, two eyes.

If you were to go into Stan’s bedroom and look through one of the pristine books in which he has categorised his ‘collection’ of birds, you would be likely to see incredibly detailed, close-up photographs of a Blue Jay’s wings and tail while it’s in flight, the markings on a Peacock’s feathers, the crest of a Cockatiel. Underneath each photograph, in an impossibly neat hand, paragraph after paragraph of descriptions that the images themselves could not capture, each one almost desperate in his attempt to bring them to life as he saw them himself, on that particular day, in that particular moment in time.

It’s this intense attention to detail that has made him something of a perfectionist. He knows that others see it as a fault; he’s been called a ‘snob’ and a ‘prude’ more times than he cares to count but, in his mind, a little pretension never hurt anyone. Why should you settle when you can try for something better? _What’s wrong with striving for perfection, after all?_

And his inclination towards the finer things in life has only increased along with his age. He’s amassed quite the assemblage of designer clothes in only a matter of months, wears a cologne that costs more than their weekly grocery bill and, as of recently, is the proud owner of one of the classier cars on the current market –although he has yet to take it further than the distance between their home and his two places of work for fear of getting it dirty or, even more unthinkable, getting a scratch on its flawless paint job-.

Despite his own belongings, however –and that’s including his ever-growing and rather extensive collection of designer watches-, his favourite thing of all is to spend his hard-earned wealth on the people he loves the most. And currently, one of the most popular victims of his monetary affection is sitting right across from him at a table in a crowded New York café.

He absent-mindedly twirls a wooden stirrer through his black coffee, pretending to listen to what Eddie is telling him about a cheerleader called Stacey who apparently hurt herself because she thought he was trying to look up her skirt during a routine and fell off the pyramid.

“I mean…why the heck would I wanna look up her skirt? What does she have under there that I’m gonna be interested in?”

He continues speaking after that but his voice sort of trails off into the distance, or at least in Stan’s mind it does; he’s rather more focused on Eddie’s hair doing that cute little quiff-y thing that it does after he’s just washed and blow-dried it. He imagines running his fingers through it, how soft and smooth it always feels and how Eddie sometimes reacts to being petted by growing all relaxed and sleepy. What he wouldn’t give to be doing that right now rather than listening to this dull story. He’s been at work for most of the day, trying to sell foundation to rich, middle-aged women who cake far too much of the stuff onto their faces and only enhance their wrinkles. Admittedly, he used a little of it on himself while he was bored waiting for clients and despite its high price it does feel a little heavy and oily; he can’t wait to get home and wash it off.

Eddie’s hand comes across the table while Stan is daydreaming about what sort of skincare routine he’s going to have to perform to make sure there’s nothing left clogging up his pores. He stops Stan from continuously stirring his drink –he didn’t even put anything in it that he needed to mix- and takes the wooden stick away from him between two of his fingers.

“You know, you shouldn’t actually use one of these. Wood is porous and when it gets damp, bacteria can grow inside it and multiply and it’s just really gross. Also, if it breaks, you could get a splinter in your tongue or your cheek and can you imagine if it got infected?” He visibly shudders and makes the sound that he always makes when he’s disgusted by something. “They should give you plastic ones.”

Stan watches the way Eddie carefully folds the offending implement into a napkin, like he does with cutlery after he’s used it. He doesn’t stop him, or question it. They’re at a stage in their relationship, now, where they can both accept each other’s quirks without judgement. If there _was_ judgement, Stan would have endless things to say about Eddie’s reasons for most things but as such, he keeps those opinions to himself.

Without the coffee stirrer to occupy his hand, he settles for stroking the smooth rim of the cup with his fingertips, trying desperately to listen to the next thing that comes out of Eddie’s mouth. Again, it fades out into nothingness as he hones in on Eddie’s lips. They’re a little bit chapped; Eddie bites them when he’s anxious and it shows. Somehow, even as someone who is so preoccupied with looking for perfection in everything, that makes them all the more appealing to Stan. He trails his eyes over them, the bow of Eddie’s top lip, the fullness of his lower lip, the space in between where there’s a little bit of a shine insinuating that it’s wet. His gaze is drawn there, to that small gap that’s visible when Eddie’s mouth is closed and he has the strange urge to put his fingers into it. Even if that were proper etiquette in a public place, Eddie would never allow it. He’s usually very specific about things being put in or near his mouth, even Stan’s hands, which are always spotlessly clean.

Eddie’s eyes captivate his attention next. Honestly, Stan considers himself to be a very stoic person in general but there’s something about a beautiful pair of eyes that definitely weakens his resolve. It’s probably one of the many and varied reasons why he can never say no to Bill. The deep, glittering brown of Eddie’s eyes is just one other example. In fact, he gets lost in them quite often; there’s a certain intensity there that lures him in, dark and a little bit unpredictable. That, and a long set of eyelashes that frame them just perfectly. He muses about how much prettier they would be fluttering against reddened cheeks, having seen it often enough to know that it’s a very welcome sight.

He joins Eddie’s freckles in his mind, one-by-one, as he continues to completely blur out what he’s actually saying. He’s pretty sure that it’s still something about bacteria living in things that you find in coffee shops and he’s really not interested in hearing any more of Eddie’s completely unfounded superstitions. Nodding along occasionally to feign enthusiasm, his eyes move south, to the tanned skin of Eddie’s collarbones which are peeking out just a little above his navy blue t-shirt. He wants to focus on the undeniably gorgeous skin but really, after it catches his eye, he can’t help but notice that Eddie is definitely wearing old clothes. Bill’s old clothes, to be exact. The shorts are Eddie’s, of course; nobody else would fit into those –or have the nerve to wear them if they did- as they certainly ride up high enough to leave little of Eddie’s tantalizingly attractive thighs to the imagination. The t-shirt, baggy around the middle where it’s been tucked into the waistband of his denim bottoms to try and account for the size of it and a little bit faded from over-wear, is definitely not Eddie’s. In fact, Stan is pretty sure that he’s seen Bill wearing that exact thing to bed, on more than one occasion.

“Is that Bill’s shirt?” Stan asks, completely cutting through Eddie’s spiel about re-usable napkins and how he’s always worried that they don’t wash them properly after people have wiped their mouths with them. Eddie seems a little taken aback at first, like he was so deep into his one-sided napkin debate that he can’t register something not relating to that topic, then he takes a quick look down at himself as he tugs at the article of clothing in concern between his thumbs and forefingers.

“Yeah. Why?”

 _“Why?”_ Stan mirrors, “That was going to be my question. I’m pretty certain that he wears that to sleep in.”

“I…I know…” Eddie is embarrassed, now. He’s gone a little pink in the cheeks, just like Stan was imagining a couple of minutes earlier in an entirely different scenario. He watches him fold his arms across his body, like he’s suddenly self-conscious. Making Eddie uncomfortable wasn’t his intention at all.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just an observation.”

He makes sure to add that quickly enough that Eddie doesn’t get too put out. He replies with a little ‘oh’ and Stan notices that his arms move away again. Really, he’d rather see Eddie in something else. Perhaps a nice, silk, button down shirt. Soft colours have always suited Eddie’s skin tone, so he’d probably pick something in a pastel. He ponders this for a little while, before lifting his coffee cup to his lips to empty it.

“Let me buy you something.”

“What?”

“Let me buy you something,” he repeats, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket to leave some money on the table between them for the drinks –and making sure to add a generous tip- before tucking it away again, “I want to buy you something. So let’s go.”

Eddie doesn’t really get a chance to argue. Once Stan has set his mind to something, everyone knows by now that it’s best to just go along with it. He might be used to sitting back and being an observer but he’s stubborn, too, when it’s his turn to take charge. They leave the café side by side and to Eddie’s apparent surprise, Stan takes his hand when they get outside. He feels Eddie tense up a little when their palms meet, but he doesn’t let go.

One of the best things about living in New York, by far, is the calibre of the retail establishments. Stan would know; he spends a lot of his precious spare time inside them, browsing through the priciest designer items. Better yet, they’re all grouped pretty closely together in a couple of blocks. They hit the Burberry store, first; there’s a very snooty sales assistant with greying hair pulled back into a tight bun who gives them such disapproving looks that Stan almost wants to buy something just to spite her and prove that he can afford to shop here. He doesn’t. Eddie seems much more uncomfortable with her presence and he more or less drags Stan from the shop.

They go straight to Madison Avenue from there. Stan is very familiar with it, considering that it’s the same street where the Barney’s he works at is located. They breeze past _that_ without going inside, although a pretty, young blonde in a skirt and suit jacket who is standing outside and smoking a cigarette does wave at Stan as they pass. The pair move on to the Tom Ford store which is close by. Stan knows it well; he gets a lot of his work suits and his shoes from here, although that’s not what he’s looking for today. He knows that Eddie has a lot of spare money, too, but he still looks uncomfortable browsing through such highly-priced clothing after they get inside. A couple of times, he sees Eddie look at a price tag, go wide-eyed, and walk away from said item, never to look back.

There are a couple of things that Stan considers going back and purchasing for himself but right now, he’s focussing on Eddie. He makes him try on a couple of shirts, both of which swamp him, even in a small size. Even taken in by Beverly, who is a pretty masterful seamstress at this point, they wouldn’t look quite right.

Eddie still looks uncomfortable as they continue to peruse, although a few times, Stan sees him go back to a pale-coloured, denim jacket which is hanging on a mannequin close to the store front. He watches him walk round and round it, like he’s admiring every angle, and open the front of it to see if it has any pockets inside –Eddie needs a lot of pockets for all of the unnecessary items he carries around with him-, although he completely avoids looking at the price tag, which is hanging threateningly from one of the sleeve cuffs. Eddie has seemed to have a thing for denim jackets ever since Richie bought one at a thrift store a couple of weeks ago and started wearing it religiously, like it’s the only thing he owns. It’s too big, even for Richie and he has to constantly roll up the sleeves a little. Stan would be irritated by it, if it weren’t for the fact that his gangling best friend looks so good in the damned thing. _Though he’d never say that to his face._

In the end, and after a brief, hushed encounter where Eddie tries desperately to explain that he’ll feel bad if Stan spends so much money on him, they leave with a black paper bag emblazoned with ‘Tom Ford’ in gold lettering, with the denim jacket folded neatly inside it. Stan doesn’t even make him try it on; if it’s a little too big, it’ll only look like it’s supposed to be that way. Plus, Eddie might have faked and told him that he didn’t actually like how it looked on him just to stop him from buying it. Another thing about Stan is that he _always_ gets his way, although he declines to tell Eddie _exactly_ how much it cost him, for fear that he might physically manhandle him back into the store and make him take it back. _He could probably do it, too._

He feels a little exhilarated afterwards, like he always does after spending a lot of money on something. It gives him a weird sort of high that usually results in him going somewhere else to spend even more. In this instance, while almost his entire focus is on Eddie, he gets even more impulsive.

“Let’s go to a hotel.”

Eddie clearly draws a blank because, rather than actually verbalising his confusion, his face says it all. He gives Stan a look that clearly says ‘you’re insane’, and digs his car keys out of the pocket of his shorts to wave them at him. Stan’s not sure exactly what he’s trying to say with that gesture. Perhaps ‘let’s go home’ as a rebuttal to his ‘let’s go to a hotel’.

“Hear me out.” Eddie still looks totally unconvinced but Stan continues in spite of it, “When do we ever get to do something spontaneous like that? We could just take your car and go somewhere really nice, just for one night.”

“…What about-”

“I’ll text them.”

“But what if-”

“Richie can survive for one night without you. He has five other idiots to look after him.”

“But how are we supposed to-”

“We will make it to class tomorrow. I promise you. It’s just one night, Eds.”

Eddie’s expression goes a little dreamy, then, as his eyes meet Stan’s and Stan can’t help feeling a little bit smug. He isn’t usually one to throw nicknames around lightly and he knows for a fact that this is the first time _ever_ , that he’s used that particular one. He watches Eddie fiddle with the chain on his keys - the one with the little, novelty, plastic bowl of spaghetti dangling from the end. It was a gift from Richie ‘so they would all know that those were Eddie’s keys’ and as stupid as it seemed at the time, Eddie hasn’t taken it off, since.

“Okay. I guess…that might be fun?”

It comes out as more of a question than a statement but Stan will take it. Eddie is tougher to manipulate than he looks because he’s strong-willed; he’s actually surprised that he’s managed to convince him thus far. He ushers Eddie back to his car before he can change his mind and they both climb inside. It smells like pine but there’s no air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror and Stan thinks that it must be from some of the cleaning products Eddie uses in here. He does keep it spotless, after all.

Eddie asks him a lot of nervous questions as they drive, mostly relating to things that they should probably go home and get, like deodorant and toothbrushes and a hairbrush. Stan assures him that nice hotels provide all of those things for you. He can almost see the gears turning in Eddie’s mind as he desperately searches for a way out. It almost breaks his own determination but, he knows for a fact that all he has to do is wind him down until _he_ sees that this is a good idea, too.

“What about underwear?!” Eddie blurts out suddenly, as if he’s found his out, “There’s no way I’m wearing these again tomorrow so let’s just turn around and-”

“There’s a gym bag in the trunk.”

“…Yeah, so?”

“You always keep one ready with everything you need. Correct?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“And, if I know you well enough, which I think that I do, there are _two_ fresh pairs of underwear inside it. You’re always over-prepared.”

Stan feels Eddie glance over in his direction but he simply raises his eyebrows at him, knowing that he’s won. Eddie takes one hand off the wheel and reaches over to the glove compartment in front of Stan, popping it open with a sigh and taking out a piece of gum from a small, see-through, plastic container. It’s not all that’s in there. There’s a travel-sized first aid kit, a pill organiser with the days of the week, a couple of spare inhalers and, to Stan’s surprise, what looks like an assortment of Richie’s things; they’re stacked neatly into one corner but Stan recognises the bracelets and hair ties. There’s even what looks like a refill for a vape. Eddie puts the piece of gum into his own mouth, offering one to Stan –which he refuses-, before closing it up again. All of this is done without his eyes once leaving the road.

“I still don’t know if this is a good idea.” Stan can smell the mint on Eddie’s breath in the small space of the car.

“Why not? When do you ever do anything for yourself? Let’s just have some fun.”

He leaves Eddie to mull that over while he slides his phone out of his pocket to send a text to Mike. Out of everyone, Mike will be the most understanding of their sudden decision to stay out for the night and he will also be the most likely to actually remember to tell the others about it. He keeps it short, a quick ‘Eddie and I are staying out at a hotel. Decided to treat ourselves. See you tomorrow.’ After a bit of thought, he adds a little ‘x’ onto the end. He doesn’t really want it to sound too formal, after all.

Just as he thought, Mike is quick to reply. He glances down at the phone screen.

‘Sounds good. Enjoy yourselves. See u tomorrow :) x’

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he directs Eddie towards 5th Avenue. There are definitely some classy hotels in that area and although Eddie looks extremely nervous about it, Stan knows exactly what he wants.

“Let’s stay at The Plaza.”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

Eddie’s response is instantaneous. He almost looks like he’s going to stop the car and Stan actually finds himself feeling thankful for the rush hour traffic that they’re currently slowly inching their way through. They get stuck behind a yellow cab at a crossing and Eddie gives him a defeated look.

“Stan, please, let’s just go home. I know I said that this was okay but The Plaza? We’re not _billionaires_. I mean…how much does it even cost to stay there?”

“For one night, I can afford it.”

“And there you go again. ‘I’ can afford this, ‘I’ can afford that. Why do you always think that _you_ have to pay for everything?”

“Well, then split it with me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. We split it in half, one night only, and just see what it’s like to live at the top.”

“You would actually let me help you to pay for something?”

The car crawls forward and Eddie looks over at Stan when it stops again. This particular concept seems to have him intrigued. Then again, Stan is willing to admit that he’s usually reluctant to allow anyone to share financial burdens with him, despite the fact that all of them always try.

“Of course. If we’re both paying, we can get a nicer room. We can order room service, we can-”

“Okay stop. Stop. Let’s just do this before I change my mind.”

Around a half hour later, Eddie is nervously leaving his car with a valet close by the hotel itself. They take the gym bag out of the trunk and Stan carries it in spite of Eddie’s protests that he can do it himself, although, as they approach the glamorous, red-carpeted steps up to the front doors of the building, he goes quiet. He looks like he feels out of place but Stan can’t understand why; he doesn’t feel that way himself at all. In fact, he’s always imagined himself staying in places like this. For him, it’s just been a matter of when.

A doorman in a black and gold cap greets them just as he does every guest but Eddie still seems ashamed. He tugs at the hem of his shorts and sticks close to Stan as they walk, and stays that way even as they pay for the room and an attractive woman in red lipstick helps them to split the price between both of their cards, just over $400 each. She’s incredibly friendly, doesn’t make any sort of indication that they are unwelcome and yet, Eddie continues to act as if he feels that way all the same. A bellboy offers to carry the gym bag to their room but Stan politely declines and ushers Eddie towards the elevators. Once they’re inside and the doors slide closed, Eddie lets out a huge, almost theatrical sigh.

“Oh god I feel so out of place. This is weird. This is _so_ fucked up.”

“Just calm down. We’re fine.”

“We’re not fine. We’re in one of the most expensive hotels in New York and I’m wearing fucking denim shorts and one of Bill’s old t-shirts that he uses as pyjamas!”

“It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. We paid for our room, so we belong here just as much as anyone else.”

“That’s okay for you to say! You look like you’re supposed to be here! I mean…what is that shirt? Is that, like…Gucci or something?”

“It’s Armani, actually. Gucci shirts aren’t really my thing. They’re a little garish.”

_“Oh, god…”_

Eddie rests his palms and forehead against the wall of the elevator dramatically but Stan takes one of his hands gently when they finally stop on the twelfth floor.

“Eddie, c’mon. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

It takes a little effort to get him to leave the elevator but Stan stays calm enough for both of them. Honestly, he wants to enjoy as much of this as he can, but that’s not going to be possible unless Eddie is relaxed, too. He’s not a _monster_.

Even the hallways are impressively elegant, with impossibly white walls and gold décor on the floors and ceilings. They pass an elderly couple on the way to their room; the gentleman is wearing a tailored, grey suit with a gold pocket watch and the woman has real pearls around her neck. They don’t give Stan and Eddie a particularly dirty look but they don’t exactly look pleased to see them, either. For a second, it even makes Stan feel a little out of place, but then he remembers that they _did_ pay to be here, and he ignores their obvious disapproval and shoots them a relatively smug expression as they go by.

He unlocks the door to their room with one of the key cards given to him by the receptionist, pushing it open carefully. The word ‘lavish’ doesn’t even begin to describe what’s inside. Everything is white and gold, with marble table tops and desks and plush pillows. There’s a walk-in closet and an impressively large en-suite bathroom, complete with a stand-alone shower _and_ a bathtub. There are chocolates on the pillows, complementary toiletries –expensive ones, at that- beside the sink and luxuriously fluffy robes and slippers at the door as they enter. Eddie looks like he’s on a completely different planet.

Stan leaves the gym bag by the door while Eddie tentatively explores. Now that they’re alone he seems suddenly much more confident. He can hear him turning the faucets in the bathroom and moving things around.

“What the fuck?! There’s a fucking TV next to the bath! Stan, you gotta come and see this!”

He doesn’t feel anywhere near the level of excitement that Eddie clearly does, but he follows him through to the bathroom all the same. Sure enough, there’s a small television screen built into the wall above the tub. The bath itself is almost ridiculously large and is in no way practical for only a two-person room. In fact, he’s pretty sure that all seven of the gang could fit in here at the same time, even with Richie’s stupidly long, spider legs and Beverly’s penchant for spreading herself out in the water like some kind of mermaid –which she always does-.

“Wanna take a bath?” he suggests, as Eddie is sniffing at the complementary soaps. He’s not sure it will be appealing to him; Eddie is often put off by the idea of sitting in other people’s –and indeed his own- ‘filth’, as he calls it. Although the allure of the spa jets, the sheer size of the thing, and the tiny TV seem to win over in this case.

“Sure.” He starts making his way out of the bathroom, past Stan, before pausing and adding, “You mean together, right?”

Stan gives him a short nod and a knowing smile. He doesn’t mean to come across as sometimes being cold and aloof but he must, since he’s often asked for permission for things relating to intimacy by his partners. It’s something that he’s always been keen to change. Maybe now is as good a place to start as any.

He takes Eddie’s hand to lead him back through to the bedroom, watching Eddie’s doe-eyed expression as he gently takes his t-shirt off him. He fights off the urge to fold it, because _fuck, they’re supposed to be being spontaneous_ , and instead throws it carelessly onto the bed. A little piece of him dies when he does it but it’s entirely worth it for the surprised look on Eddie’s face. Raking his fingers through Eddie’s hair –both hands-, he pulls his head back a little, enjoying their height difference a little too much as Eddie gazes up at him almost obediently.

“I’m going to order some room service,” he says, quietly, watching the way Eddie’s eyelids droop a little as he teases his fingertips across his scalp, “Why don’t you draw a bath for us?”

“ _Draw_ a bath? What, were you born in the fifties or something?” Eddie chuckles, and it makes Stan feel warm in his chest.

“Okay, smartass. Just go and do it, before I change my mind. Do you wanna watch the little TV or not?”

“I wanna watch the little TV,” Eddie nods, removing Stan’s hands from his hair to disappear into the bathroom again. Stan hears the sudden hiss of running water.

It’s only about twenty minutes after that they’re both sitting in the hot water together, watching a re-run of Oprah –there’s never anything particularly good on hotel stations- and indulging in strawberries and champagne. _Well, Stan is indulging in the champagne, since Eddie no longer drinks alcohol after a bad experience from when he was a teen._

He reaches over the edge of the tub for his champagne flute, trying not to jostle Eddie, who’s currently lying back against his chest and nibbling on a strawberry. Honestly, since he’s drinking alone, he doesn’t know why he’s not just doing it straight from the bottle, but that might lower the tone somewhat. He takes a rather large sip from the glass, suddenly aware that Eddie is looking at him.

“Is it good?”

He lowers it from his lips.

“Yeah. Do you want some?”

Eddie looks pensive for a second but ultimately shakes his head, pulling a bit of a disapproving face before turning back to the screen. He downs the rest of the liquid, placing the empty glass back on the bathroom floor. It’s his third one, so he doesn’t pour another. He’s feeling a little warm and hazy already, that perfect place between sober and drunk where you just feel nicely placid. He runs his fingers lazily through Eddie’s hair, a little damp from the steam in the room, feeling Eddie’s head loll back against his shoulder. The tiny droplets of water trickling down Eddie’s neck and bare chest make him feel a little bit thirsty. Maybe he _has_ had a bit too much to drink.

The younger man seems fixed on the television screen but Stan couldn’t tell anyone what the episode was about; the voices in the background are just a blur to him, now. He watches a bead of water drip from the ends of Eddie’s hair, follows it with his eyes as it runs down his neck to catch in his collarbone. It must be the steam making him feel a little bit light-headed but he can’t seem to look at anything else.

He’s not one to ignore urges, so he leans in to skim his lips over damp skin, feeling Eddie shudder and tense up as he jerks his head slightly to try and see what he’s doing. He relaxes again when Stan’s lips latch on to his neck, slowly sucking the moisture away and following a couple of rivulets of water with the tip of his tongue, right up to his hairline. He kisses and licks all of the bare skin that he can reach in this position, including Eddie’s shoulder, until he can’t physically do any more, then he pushes him to sit forward and leans in to get the back of his neck, too.

“Are you drunk?” Eddie says, in a faintly shaky voice as Stan bites at one of his shoulders. He’s gripping the edge of the bathtub with one hand.

“No,” Stan mutters into his back, drawing his lips back up to just behind one of his ears, so he can whisper, “ _You’re just so beautiful I wanna eat you_.”

Sexy or not, Eddie chuckles at the comment and Stan feels himself laughing a little, too.

“Stop being weird.” There’s no real meaning behind it and it actually comes out sounding very fond. It makes Stan want him all the more. He kisses his way across the top of Eddie’s back, admiring the way the muscles contract visibly between his shoulder blades when he gets ticklish. It starts into a little routine: he runs his wet palms across Eddie’s skin, leaving more beads of water, then he follows each one with his tongue until he’s mostly dry. He repeats this about three times, until Eddie quietly tells him to stop.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, resting his chin against Eddie’s shoulder so he can see the side of his face. He looks a little flushed.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…you’re making me…”

“Making you what?”

He answers his own question as he reaches down beneath the water and between Eddie’s legs, startling a gasp out of him as he wraps his fingers around his half-hard dick. It doesn’t take much to get Eddie worked up, although Stan is actually surprised that he’s managed to keep it down for this long. Eddie reaches down, too, and Stan is expecting him to pull his hand away but he doesn’t. He actually feels quite shocked when Eddie’s fingers slide around his own to add to the pressure, although he keeps his hand still. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants it or not. Stan leaves him to figure it out for himself as he watches him calmly.

“We’re in a hotel,” Eddie finally says, as if that’s the end of the non-existent debate between them somehow.

“You’re very observant,” Stan replies, sarcastically. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment but he can’t help himself.

“We can’t have sex in a hotel.”

“Why not?”

“Because…it’s…it’s gross! Other people have slept in this room! People we don’t know!”

“And surprisingly enough, they _do_ clean the sheets between guests. Eddie, this is a five star hotel.”

“Yeah, well…what if ‘we’ get the sheets dirty? I don’t want anybody to have to…clean up…”

“We won’t. I’ll put a towel down.”

Eddie looks at him, then, directly. He seems as if he’s carefully studying Stan’s face.

“You…you wanna have sex?”

“I do.”

“Right now?”

“Well, pretty soon, at least.”

“In this hotel room?”

“ _No_ , on the balcony, where everyone can see us.”

“…Really?”

Stan gives him an incredulous look.

“No, not really. But if you don’t stop being such a baby, I might throw _you_ _off_ the balcony.”

The room is suddenly silent enough that he can hear the drops from the ends of his own hair hitting the water. He waits for the backlash, after seeing Eddie’s expression change immediately at the word ‘baby’. He pulls Stan’s hand away from him, calmly gets up out of the tub and practically rips a towel off the wall as he exits the room with it.

It’s a well-known fact that you _never_ refer to Eddie using that particular word, but for some reason, Stan can’t seem to help himself and he’s always the one who falls victim to it. The two of them are both hot-heads and really, their fights are often the worst because they’re so stubborn. He rubs wet fingers over his temples, stepping out of the tub himself to tie a towel around his waist and preparing himself to try and fix this before the night is completely ruined.

He hates confrontation, has to steel his nerves before he follows Eddie through to the bedroom but then, it was his fault for using that word in the first place and he ought to apologise. He pulls the plug on the bath before he goes, switching off the TV just as the camera pans over a crying audience on Oprah. He’s not sure what they were crying about but it feels rather fitting to his own current situation.

“Eddie?” he calls softly, uncertainly, as he moves through to the other room. He’s not really sure how he’s going to fix this, to be honest, but in an overwhelming stroke of luck it seems that he doesn’t have to, since before he’s even properly entered the bedroom, he’s pinned roughly against the wall by Eddie’s warm, still damp body.

He’s about to speak again, perhaps to start dodging around the idea of apologising –which he hates doing-, when Eddie’s mouth is on his, firm and demanding even with Eddie standing on his toes to do it. It’s a bruising, desperate, messy kiss, the only kind that Stan ever really enjoys or participates fully in. He bites at Eddie’s lower lip, earning a noise that can only be described as a growl as he presses him harder against the wall. He’s never, _ever_ seen this reaction before, to using that word against Eddie, even knowing that Eddie sometimes responds this way to anger, frustration or adrenaline.

But there’s no time for speaking, not to ask why he’s so riled up or anything else, for that matter. Eddie seems affronted by their differing height so much that he drags Stan, physically, over to a desk, where he shoves him into the chair in front of it. He’s in Stan’s lap before he can take in his new surroundings, kissing him hungrily again.

He must have begun to dress while Stan was emptying the bath, as he’s wearing a fresh pair of boxer briefs, but they’re straining at the front and look uncomfortably tight. Stan decides to help him out, there, slipping a hand down Eddie’s bare abdomen and into the front of the briefs and Eddie doesn’t stop him, but he breaks apart from Stan’s lips when he gets his hand on his now definitely fully-fledged erection to start pumping it at the base. A power exchange happens in that second and Stan is back in control as he watches Eddie’s head go back and his lips drop open. He gets his other hand on the small of Eddie’s back to hold him upright, leaning in to just barely brush his throat with his lips and relishing the way Eddie leans further back to readily expose more of it to him.

Eddie’s strong fingers tangle into his hair shortly after that, like he’s still grasping to keep some of the control over the situation, and Stan wouldn’t admit it out loud but it makes him a little bit excited. They both know that Eddie is stronger than him by far. He touches Eddie everywhere he can reach in this position and with the restriction of the fabric of his underwear, paying extra attention to the head of his dick when he rubs his thumb across it and feels Eddie’s grip on his hair weaken.

“ _That feels so good_ ,” Eddie groans, from between his teeth, as if he was trying to stop himself from speaking and just couldn’t hold it in.

“Yeah?” He continues to massage his thumb into that spot in slow circles, watching the way Eddie’s mouth drops open again and his eyelids flutter. He’s ready to continue teasing him like this, to eventually get him to the point of begging, like he so likes to do with his partners, until Eddie blurts out another demand.

“Put me up on the desk.”

It actually stops Stan in his tracks, and he wonders when Eddie became so assertive. Not that he’s not into it; this side of Eddie is what he’s always hoped to draw out of him, ever since he first sensed it lurking just beneath the surface.

He slips his hand from Eddie’s underwear to answer his request, thankful of their height difference now more than ever; Eddie is actually quite heavy, considering how petite he is. He gets them both out of the seat and hoists the small brunette up onto the desk’s edge, humming a little in contentment when Eddie immediately rips the towel from Stan’s waist and tugs his naked body between his waiting thighs for another, rather uncivilised kiss.

Eddie’s hands are almost frantic, dragging and raking at Stan’s curls, then his shoulders, moving lower and lower until short nails are digging into the bones of his hips. The frenetic energy is making Stan feel a little wound up, too, and he presses Eddie back against the wall to kiss a wet trail down his heaving chest, stopping right over one of his nipples to get it between his teeth. Eddie’s head goes back against the wall with a rather hard thud that seems like it might have hurt, but he only gasps out a shaky ‘yes’ and digs one of his heels into Stan’s lower back where his leg has wrapped around him.

He works his way down Eddie’s stomach after that, moving his leg aside but keeping a grip on his thigh for good measure. He’s ready to give him the most mind-blowing head of his life but then he has a better idea. He pulls back, waits for Eddie’s expression to change to one of confusion and disappointment, and then uses one of his arms to gently pull him into a sitting position.

“Turn over.”

Eddie clearly doesn’t have to be told twice while he’s this riled up. He hops down from the desk to turn around, visibly shuddering when Stan briefly presses himself against his back. It doesn’t last long, Stan places one of his palms against Eddie’s shoulder to push him forward, bending him over until he has to press his hands against the wood to stop it from touching his chest. Stan doesn’t mind; he can stay in whatever position he likes, for now. He’ll be scrambling against it pretty soon, anyway.

He kisses his way down Eddie’s spine, like he’s done a thousand times before. This time, the urgency of the situation is apparent. He doesn’t take his time to tease him like he usually would. He’s feeling oddly desperate, himself, and the arch of Eddie’s smooth back right in front of him isn’t doing anything to quell his desire to be inside that tight, little body. He strips his underwear off him as quickly as he can.

A string of curse words leaves Eddie’s mouth as soon as Stan’s tongue touches his sensitive hole. It’s a brief lick, barely touching, but it’s well-known that this is the best way to leave Eddie completely wrecked and begging. He definitely ends up that way, in only a couple of minutes, as Stan lathes his tongue over him again and again, occasionally pushing in the tip of his finger, just a little, to start to open him up. Eddie’s knees actually buckle, at one point, after Stan works his finger all of the way inside him and licks around the edges of it.

_“Ohhh, god-”_

“Good boy,” Stan mutters, quietly enough that it’s almost to himself but Eddie hears it well enough and he groans at that, too.

He strokes at the backs of Eddie’s thighs with his free hand, encouraging him to spread them further apart so he can slip his finger deeper inside. He knows there’s probably some spare lubricant in Eddie’s gym bag –with Eddie, overly prepared doesn’t even come close-, which he left by the door but right now, with only the one finger, he doesn’t need it. He works some more saliva around, pressing it into him as he slowly slides his finger out and then back in again and he sees Eddie’s toes curl against the carpet, and the way his back arches a little. After that he stands; he can move his finger more easily from this position.

During the space of about ten minutes, maybe less, he works him up to a climax with just one finger. As he suspected, Eddie is left scrambling, listlessly, against the desk, his breath leaving foggy marks on the shiny, polished surface as Stan teases his prostate. He’s so used to finding it now that it seems almost too easy, although he still gets a kick out of the shaky moans and gasping breaths it draws from Eddie. Before he comes, Stan hears his head drop against the hard surface as he starts babbling a string of pleas.

“I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Stan’s voice is calm, steady, everything that Eddie’s is not. He presses his fingertip harder against that spot that is undoing him so obviously, taking pleasure himself in the sharp, high moan he gets in response.

“…Please…”

“Please what?”

“-I…I wanna come…”

He strokes his free hand across Eddie’s left hip, gripping at him and resisting the urge to give it a good, hard slap. Eddie presses back against him in response to the contact, nonetheless, trapping Stan’s hand between both of their bodies. A hand comes back to grasp at Stan’s thigh, eager to keep him close with some of their bare skin touching.

“Do you?” Stan teases, rubbing his thumb against one of the dimples in Eddie’s back and watching him shudder and nod frantically, “What do we say when we want something?” 

Eddie is quick on the mark, clearly past the point of trying to preserve his dignity. He sounds so desperate when he speaks that Stan feels adequately satisfied with it.

“ _P-please sir_! I wanna come…I wanna come so bad, sir – please!”

Glad of the soundproofing on the walls, Stan starts to move his finger more quickly, rubbing hard against the spot that is making Eddie’s knees weak, with a soft but firm ‘Good boy’. Eddie clings to the edge of the desk for a while, knuckles white in anticipation before his body finally gives in and he comes, hard against the dark wood, going silent as he rides it out before letting out a string of expletives and a very satisfied groan.

Stan waits for him to finish, running a palm up and down his back and appreciating the contrast between his own pale hand and Eddie’s sun-kissed body. His skin is warm and a little bit damp, particularly at the back of his neck, which Stan rubs at with his fingers.

“Are you done?”

Both of them know what he’s really asking. Stan might enjoy being in control and taking his partners apart bit by bit, but he won’t do it without absolute and unwavering consent. He’s asking Eddie if he wants to continue. If he doesn’t, well, Stan’s sure that he can just ignore his own body’s want for release; he’s done it often enough. Eddie’s comfort is more important.

“Just…gimme a minute…”

It isn’t really a minute at all –maybe in ‘Eddie Time’-, and shortly after he speaks, he’s lifting himself away from the desk to allow things to continue. They move over to the bed this time, and once again Stan is surprised by Eddie’s eagerness as he pushes Stan against the pillows and gets himself comfortable between his thighs. Eddie’s not exactly an expert when it comes to blowjobs. He’s far too self-conscious and nervous about gagging or accidentally using his teeth to be on the level of someone like Bill, but having warm, wet lips around him after putting off his own pleasure for so long is definitely not unwelcome to Stan.

He reaches down to brush Eddie’s bangs aside; they’re a little damp with sweat and sticking to him, and Eddie’s reactional glance up at him sends a favourable jolt of ecstasy through him. He might not have a natural talent for sucking cock but those dark eyes are enough to send someone over the edge all the same. Ideally, he’d like to hold the eye contact for as long as possible -there’s something about the intimacy of it that he really gets off on-, but Eddie must get nervous because he looks away, down at Stan’s abdomen instead, and the moment is gone.

It does feel good, especially when Eddie plucks up the courage to take him a little deeper and starts to bob his head. Praising him seems to have the greatest effect in this scenario in particular, and each time Stan tells him that he’s doing a good job or that he’s a good boy, he feels the speed of Eddie’s movements increase or feels that wet heat get tighter around him. He rests his own head back against the bedframe, focusing entirely on the sensation of Eddie’s tongue sliding up and down on him. When he reaches down again, this time to brush his fingers through Eddie’s hair and keep a hold on it, Eddie pushes his thighs further apart to get closer to his body and takes him even further into his mouth.

Stan isn’t really one for making a lot of noise during sex. It’s not that he’s embarrassed about it or that he tries to hold it back at all, he just never really has the urge. When he’s particularly riled up, however, like right now, he does find it tough to control his breathing. He gets a little lost in the moment, lowering his other hand, too, to thread his fingers into Eddie’s dark locks with the first; his breath comes out with a soft groan, which Eddie reciprocates, the sound vibrating through him in a pleasurable sensation.

He feels, rather than sees, Eddie pull off him and crawl up to meet him in a kiss. His hands are still in Eddie’s hair, and they remain there as the smaller man climbs into his lap to grind their naked bodies together. It’s difficult to actually get him to stop, since they need lube and a condom and both of those things are over by the door in the gym bag but neither of them really seem to want to move away from each other. Eventually, Stan rolls Eddie onto his back to pull away from him, and goes to retrieve the items himself.

Stretching Eddie open properly is something that probably takes longer than it should, not because he’s particularly tight, but because once you have your fingers inside him, he never wants you to take them out. He grips at Stan’s shoulders as he thrusts two digits in and out of his body at a smooth pace; seemingly, he’s raring to go again already.

 _“Deeper-”_ he whines, rocking his hips in time with the rhythm of Stan’s hand when he obliges. His head sinks back into the soft hotel pillows and remains there as Stan continues his work, and it isn’t long before the soft sounds he’s making turn into lustful begging and he abruptly reaches between his own thighs to start touching himself. He’s fully hard again, almost painfully so from the look of it, and Stan wonders once again, how the hell he does it.

He allows him to stroke himself to another orgasm, helping it along with his fingers as Eddie shifts restlessly against the pillows until he comes across his own stomach and chest with a breathy cry of Stan’s name. He’s even more of a mess than before, which is exactly what Stan was hoping for.

Stroking at Eddie’s thighs as he comes down from another state of ecstasy, he relishes in the sight of him: dark, sweat-slicked hair contrasted against white, hotel sheets, cheeks rosy with the faint memory of intense pleasure, smooth, toned muscles beneath caramel-coloured skin that just begs to be touched over every delicious inch. He leans in to kiss at one of Eddie’s biceps, feeling fingers go into his hair, lazy but still strong.

“Can you go again?” he mutters into Eddie’s collarbone, working his way gradually up underneath his perfect jaw. Eddie tilts his head back to allow him better access and groans softly in the midst of another wave of post-bliss satisfaction. He gives him a little nod of affirmation shortly after, while Stan’s lips reach his ear and tug at the lobe.

He needs to give Eddie some time to ready himself for the next round, longer than before, since he looks like he’s starting to get tired but thankfully, Eddie seems to be thinking the same thing. He moves _with_ Stan when he pulls away to sit back on his knees, get his own hand on Stan’s erection, this time. Stan isn’t anywhere near as hard as Eddie was –either time- but that’s normal for him. His body definitely isn’t as eager as it should be for a man of his age, although he’s always put that down to the fact that he’s kind of uptight. Sometimes, his body doesn’t react to the arousal he feels in his mind, and it’s rather irritating.

Eddie’s hand feels good, of course; he’s strong and has a firm grip, and his palms are always warm, but it’s not enough on its own. He watches patiently as Eddie picks up the bottle of lube from where Stan left it on the bed, squirts some of it into his fist, and then moves back in to continue, grimacing a little at the wet sound, which makes Stan chuckle.

“Does it feel good…or…should I…do it differently? I mean, I don’t know how you do it…”

The idea that Eddie is nervous about this when they’ve slept together more times than he can count is very amusing, but Stan still feels like he ought to help him out. He reaches down to Eddie’s hand, pulling at his fingers a little to get him to loosen his grip.

“Just be gentle.”

“Why? Is it…sensitive?” There’s a definite redness in Eddie’s cheeks, now, but he has followed Stan’s instruction and his fingers are so loose that they’re just brushing him sometimes. Stan shakes his head, manoeuvring Eddie’s hand so that his thumb rests against the underside of the head of his erection.

“A little, but…you asked how I do it.”

Eddie presses his thumb against that spot and starts to rub at it, clearly gauging Stan’s reactions and deciding that the lighter his touch, the better it seems to be. He still looks embarrassed but also…a little intrigued.

“Do you always do it like this? Can you actually feel it?”

“The more you tease, the more sensitive it gets.”

“So you…edge…yourself?”

Eddie has followed his instructions well; it’s starting to ache a little, the need for more pressure burning just beneath the surface. He swallows a breath as he nods, noting the way Eddie’s eyes are boring into him like he’s picking out every detail. He feels him move closer, crowding into his space as he moves his hand faster, still with a weak, ghosting grip.

 _“G…go slow…”_ It’s breathed out, by Stan, and Eddie eagerly obliges the order but he looks more confident about it now. He leans up to Stan’s lips, giving him the softest peck, there, before continuing a trail along to his jaw, each one becoming firmer until he’s sucking a mark into his neck. All the while, he keeps his hand moving just as Stan wanted it, slow and teasing, occasionally drawing his thumb over the tip.

It’s an odd feeling, being manipulated, especially by Eddie; it’s starting to feel really good and he can’t help leaning in to the touch, or running his palm up and down Eddie’s arm in a sort of silent support of his actions. Eddie’s lips are still tight on his neck, probably working a bruise there, and Stan would usually stop that sort of thing because he hates having marks on his skin. He’s about to, but then Eddie’s teeth dig into him just a little and his resolve crumbles.

He pulls Eddie closer to him, getting a hand in his hair to encourage him to stay right where he is. Eddie’s hand works on him faster, drawing a gasp from him that almost becomes a groan. There’s a heat building in him, familiar and desperate but Eddie stops and starts up a slow pace all over again, right at the tip, and Stan is so grateful to himself for having edged Eddie before so he knows how it works.

It goes like this for a while, Eddie drawing him close to climax before starting all over again, until each touch feels almost painful and he can’t stand it anymore. He still hasn’t completely snapped, but he removes Eddie’s hand and detaches him from his neck rather quickly.

“Get on all fours.”

Eddie doesn’t have to be told twice; he’s in the position faster than Stan can roll on the condom he brought over. Considering Eddie’s eagerness and general energy, Stan is a little concerned about which one of them might actually come first, this time, but he lines up and pushes in before he can give it much thought, watching the muscles in Eddie’s back go tense.

They didn’t prepare all that much, considering he only used two fingers but despite the tightness and the probable discomfort on Eddie’s part, he still presses back to try and get him deeper and mutters _‘oh fuck yes’_ under his breath as their hips touch.

It’s rougher than it usually is between the two of them, more intense and desperate. Eddie has already come twice and he still seems just as eager as if he hadn’t at all, rocking back against Stan just as hard as Stan is thrusting into him. It ends up pretty loud and once again Stan finds himself gratefully thinking of the fact that the walls in this hotel are probably soundproof. Well, Eddie is loud –his usual kind of loud-, even moaning closed-mouthed each time their bodies meet is becoming sharp and rather high-pitched and each sound is only punctuating Stan’s pleasure.

_He’s tight. He’s always so fucking tight._

It gets harder and harder, louder and louder, until, when Stan briefly slows to give them both a small break, Eddie drops forward against the bed, leaving only his hips still in the air. He drags a pillow underneath himself, clinging to it hard while Stan strokes and grips at his waist, using it to get some good leverage. Their hips start connecting forcibly again shortly after that, as Eddie whines and groans against the pillow and Stan has to chew at his lower lip to stop himself from making any similar noises.

The arch of Eddie’s tanned back in front of him is so alluring, but he can’t bend down to get his mouth on it if he wants to keep up the same pace. Although, the decision is made for him when Eddie reaches back for him, brokenly gasping his name until he holds out his hand for him to take. He pulls Stan down against his back with quite a force, although the connection of their hot, sweaty skin is very satisfying. Stan wants to adjust himself to get into a better position for moving his hips, but one of Eddie’s arms comes back around his neck, fingers forcefully gripping at his hair to keep him close. It should be awkward, but the heat between them, the close proximity of Eddie’s breaths and moans and the way he’s holding him against his own body make it feel so passionate that it’s difficult to care that he can no longer thrust as hard as he wants to.

It gets slow and deep instead; each shift of their bodies is like a synchronised motion. Eddie is pressing back so firmly against him that he can’t really pull out or push back in, so he stays buried in him as far as he can, rocking him against the bed and enjoying the way Eddie’s legs kind of wrap around his own so that he can feel his toes curl.

 _“-It-it’s so deep…”_ Eddie moans shakily, head dropping against the pillow beneath which his other arm is tucked. Stan can feel sweat running out of his own hair and down the back of his neck, and Eddie’s hot hand being there isn’t helping, but he couldn’t really care less at this point.

It doesn’t take much longer for either of them; Stan actually comes first, like he thought, rutting his hips and forcing a rather loud moan from Eddie’s lips. He stays close against him through it, although Eddie’s hand drops from his hair and against the pillow to grip that instead. He’s ready to push himself a little more, just to get Eddie to finish, even though it’s a little uncomfortable but Eddie refuses to come on the bedsheets and pushes him off so he can roll over.

He comes in Stan’s mouth, in the end. After complaining frantically that Stan promised to put a towel beneath them, it was the only solution that he was satisfied with that didn’t involve Stan getting up. Although, he does get up anyway to go and wash it down with another glass of champagne, leaving Eddie seemingly completely drained of energy on the bed.

Stan cleans them both up, knowing that Eddie will be the most upset if he doesn’t but feeling a little gross and sticky himself. He collects the two pairs of fresh underwear that were, predictably, in Eddie’s gym bag. They’re a little tight on him but not overly uncomfortable and it’s definitely better than the alternative. They finish off the last of the strawberries and watch a shitty horror movie on TV before falling asleep.

All in all, it’s an experience that Stan is definitely eager to relive; he actually starts looking at five star hotels online the next day when they get home, while Eddie describes the hotel room to the others like he’s telling them a bedtime story.

But the best part of it, by far, is that when Eddie leaves for college later on that day, he does it wearing the Tom Ford jacket and looking like a million dollars, giving Stan a very satisfying kiss on his way out of the front door. It must be Stan’s imagination, but he still tastes faintly of strawberries.

He opens up the morning newspaper, sips on his black coffee, and looks around the table at the other five beautiful people sitting with him, weighing up his options. Beverly looks perky and pretty, as usual, even wearing one of Bill’s sweatshirts and with bed hair. Mike is standing at the kitchen sink, arms and charming smile on full display and looking like some kind of Adonis. Ben is leaning against one of the counters, sweaty and glowing from early morning exercise. Stan’s eyes stay on him for a while before moving on Bill, messy and covered in flakes of paint –he rarely wakes up before noon but when he does it’s always to do something artistic-, and he runs through a quick scenario in his head, imagines having an entire hotel room to themselves for all of the uncommonly filthy things they usually get up to. Then his gaze lands upon Richie, last but not least, legs sticking out from underneath the kitchen table where they’re too long to fit, hair drawn up into a messy bun which seems like it’s begging to be pulled at, one hand holding a spoon, which he’s using to tap an annoying tune onto the side of a bowl of cereal.

 

And he marks his next victim.


End file.
